When I started high school, I had no friends. I came from a small private school in the woods to an enormous public school with 1,600 students. No one from my 8th grade class lived in North Kingstown, so I was forced to fly solo into the unknown. The first year was difficult. I can remember the social anxiety all too well as I entered my classes and found that many people's social cliques from middle school had carried over; I was on the outside. A pivotal moment in my early high school career was opening my locker for the first time. It can be summed up in two words: sheer panic. In all of my years in Waldorf school I never used a combination lock; my "locker" was wooden and had a name tag on it, the only defense against possible intruders. I had no idea how to operate this metal contraption. I felt incompetent and scared. In a blind panic I asked a passing adult to help me, much too afraid to ask another student. After a few days I eventually figured it out, and it was one of the proudest moments of my life. Many of my subsequent experiences in and out of the classroom were similar to the locker conundrum. They began with hysteria, and, with time, everything was alright.
Soon after mastering my combination lock, I cracked the code on fitting in. Drama club. Theatre was my saving grace. I had been a part of theatre before high school and I knew the kind of people who were attracted to it. The weird kids who were a bit too expressive, and as I had come to find, unbelievably creative. I began to discover who I was through NorTheatre, and never felt out of place again. The auditorium became my home for the next four years. I did theatre classes, conferences, the fall play, the spring musical, the drama showcase, and anything else that came up. I formed a special connection with my teachers and directors, my classmates and cast mates. I threw myself wholeheartedly into everything I did, with much of my energy put into rehearsal. I always did my schoolwork, but I was often more interested in the production at hand.
Sophomore year something interesting happened when my drama teacher was also my English teacher. Mrs. Arthur was infamous for her no excuses attitude and tough exterior. I would go from Acting Ensemble to American Literature every other day, often feeling physically ill from stress. That woman gave new meaning to the word "intimidating." She expected excellence and nothing less. In theatre this meant knowing your lines and committing fully to a scene, which is easier said than done. In English, it meant pushing your limits as far as analysis and reading abilities. It's amazing how terrified I was of her, yet she remains one of my favorite teachers. She achieved the gold standard of making a difference in a student's life. When she moved to Georgia my junior year, I was devastated. My beloved theatre program would never be the same.
During the next two years I lost passion for drama. It wasn't being taken as seriously as before, and that was insulting. The new director had vision and imagination, but lacked the structure I craved. The fall plays went from Broadway productions to Playhouse theatre. My club members and I tried our best to carry on without our leader, but it was challenging. I was honored to be elected drama club president for my senior year, but I was unprepared for what came next. A dark cloud overshadowed the sunny skies of my life. At the end of my junior year, my mother became terminally ill. It was difficult to focus on anything that summer, especially my once cherished club.
Senior year began with an end. I lost my mother late that September and my life changed forever. I felt that I had nothing to lose and decided to see how far I could go academically. That year I went deeper into my studies than ever before, becoming a top student in every one of my classes. I even excelled in my science and math courses, which were never my strong subjects. After the restructuring of the drama club and the loss of my mom, I felt powerless. Claiming my education allowed me to regain some type of control. Ever since then, I have a new found appreciation for the education system. The experience with my mother taught me that there are some things in this world that are truly horrific; and school is not one of them.
My high school experience was transformative. I entered North Kingstown High School with a sense of uncertainty about myself and what I wanted. The drama club became my safe haven and allowed me to connect with remarkable people, whom I will never forget. Losing my mother was a harrowing experience, but I am now at peace with it. I now know the importance of seeing things for what they truly are. So often we allow ourselves to be entrapped by despair, but I know happiness and love are ceaseless. Now that I can see clearly, I have not stopped soaring.
Dr. Fogleman
Marcy Abong
17 September 2014
When I started high school, I had no friends. I came from a small private school in the woods to an enormous public school with 1,600 students. No one from my 8th grade class lived in North Kingstown, so I was forced to fly solo into the unknown. The first year was difficult. I can remember the social anxiety all too well as I entered my classes and found that many people's social cliques from middle school had carried over; I was on the outside. A pivotal moment in my early high school career was opening my locker for the first time. It can be summed up in two words: sheer panic. In all of my years in Waldorf school I never used a combination lock; my "locker" was wooden and had a name tag on it, the only defense against possible intruders. I had no idea how to operate this metal contraption. I felt incompetent and scared. In a blind panic I asked a passing adult to help me, much too afraid to ask another student. After a few days I eventually figured it out, and it was one of the proudest moments of my life. Many of my subsequent experiences in and out of the classroom were similar to the locker conundrum. They began with hysteria, and, with time, everything was alright.
Soon after mastering my combination lock, I cracked the code on fitting in. Drama club. Theatre was my saving grace. I had been a part of theatre before high school and I knew the kind of people who were attracted to it. The weird kids who were a bit too expressive, and as I had come to find, unbelievably creative. I began to discover who I was through NorTheatre, and never felt out of place again. The auditorium became my home for the next four years. I did theatre classes, conferences, the fall play, the spring musical, the drama showcase, and anything else that came up. I formed a special connection with my teachers and directors, my classmates and cast mates. I threw myself wholeheartedly into everything I did, with much of my energy put into rehearsal. I always did my schoolwork, but I was often more interested in the production at hand.
Sophomore year something interesting happened when my drama teacher was also my English teacher. Mrs. Arthur was infamous for her no excuses attitude and tough exterior. I would go from Acting Ensemble to American Literature every other day, often feeling physically ill from stress. That woman gave new meaning to the word "intimidating." She expected excellence and nothing less. In theatre this meant knowing your lines and committing fully to a scene, which is easier said than done. In English, it meant pushing your limits as far as analysis and reading abilities. It's amazing how terrified I was of her, yet she remains one of my favorite teachers. She achieved the gold standard of making a difference in a student's life. When she moved to Georgia my junior year, I was devastated. My beloved theatre program would never be the same.
During the next two years I lost passion for drama. It wasn't being taken as seriously as before, and that was insulting. The new director had vision and imagination, but lacked the structure I craved. The fall plays went from Broadway productions to Playhouse theatre. My club members and I tried our best to carry on without our leader, but it was challenging. I was honored to be elected drama club president for my senior year, but I was unprepared for what came next. A dark cloud overshadowed the sunny skies of my life. At the end of my junior year, my mother became terminally ill. It was difficult to focus on anything that summer, especially my once cherished club.
Senior year began with an end. I lost my mother late that September and my life changed forever. I felt that I had nothing to lose and decided to see how far I could go academically. That year I went deeper into my studies than ever before, becoming a top student in every one of my classes. I even excelled in my science and math courses, which were never my strong subjects. After the restructuring of the drama club and the loss of my mom, I felt powerless. Claiming my education allowed me to regain some type of control. Ever since then, I have a new found appreciation for the education system. The experience with my mother taught me that there are some things in this world that are truly horrific; and school is not one of them.
My high school experience was transformative. I entered North Kingstown High School with a sense of uncertainty about myself and what I wanted. The drama club became my safe haven and allowed me to connect with remarkable people, whom I will never forget. Losing my mother was a harrowing experience, but I am now at peace with it. I now know the importance of seeing things for what they truly are. So often we allow ourselves to be entrapped by despair, but I know happiness and love are ceaseless. Now that I can see clearly, I have not stopped soaring.